


Today, Tomorrow, Always

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Gentle Dom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Uses His Words, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Men Crying, Sub Jaskier | Dandelion, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: For this prompt:After an intense scene Jaskier falls into subdrop and Geralt doesn't notice at first as Jaskier is usually pretty quiet after their scenes, until Jaskier starts crying and whining.Cue Geralt doing his best to extra comforting and trying to feel too guiltyCan be canonverse or modern AU
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 856
Collections: Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	Today, Tomorrow, Always

Geralt is uncertain as to what woke him, at first. 

The room is dark, the dying embers of the fire illuminating the small space in a weak, haunting orange-yellow light. From what he can tell, everything is exactly how he’d left it that evening… right down to Jaskier’s expensive seafoam green trousers, which are now sporting a  _ horrific _ tear in the crotch (which he is certain Jaskier will be more upset about, when he’s not so desperate to gag on Geralt’s cock that he actually registers the fact that the trousers are well beyond repair), that’re sprawled over one of the bedposts like some sort of flag. 

He does a quick check, and finds that he can move each of his limbs without difficulty. He’s a bit sore, but that’s to be expected after a particularly draining hunt and a night spend teasing Jaskier into oblivion. For as bratty and disobedient as he could be in public, once the Witcher had him behind closed doors, his desire to be Geralt’s perfect little pet… to please his Witcher in any way… never fails to leave Geralt dizzy with desire and love. 

Speaking of Jaskier… as his mind grows clearer, he recognizes the fact that Jaskier is no longer cuddled up to his side, his dark head of chestnut hair resting on Geralt’s left pec. He actually feels a bit chilly, suggesting that Jaskier moved quite awhile ago. Which is odd, considering that it is still early yet. Jaskier is rarely up before dawn, and only then, when Geralt has poked and prodded and  _ annoyed _ him to the extent that returning to sleep is unthinkable.

It’s… a lot harder than it sounds. 

He’s brought back to the present by a painfully soft mewl. He furrows his brows as he rolls over onto Jaskier’s side of the bed, peering over the side of the mattress to find… Jaskier, curled up in a ball, his tear-slick face hidden away in his arms as he tries, desperately, to muffle his sobs. Geralt’s heart clenches as he slides off the bed, squatting down so that he is at eye-level with his teary-eyed sub. Jaskier is so wrapped up in whatever it is that has him so upset that he doesn’t notice Geralt’s presence until the Witcher begins to softly call his name.

Jaskier jumps, letting out a high-pitched whine as he scampers backward until his back hits the side of the bed with a dull  _ thwack _ . “I-I’m sorry! I’m  _ sorry _ !” He says, over and over, hardly taking the time to take a proper breath.

Geralt frowns, “Jas? Jaskier?” He wants to reach out, to brush the tears from Jaskier’s cheeks, but he doesn’t know whether the bardling will appreciate his touch at the moment. “What are you apologizing for, little lark? You’ve done nothing wrong.” He says, hoping to assuage him.

Jaskier shakes his head, “I didn’t… I was  _ bad _ . I didn’t… d-didn’t  _ listen _ to you. I never listen to you! I’m always disobeying, and putting myself in harms way, and I… I... “ he takes a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out in a wail. “I f-fucked up your punishment tonight and I’m  _ sorry _ . I don’t d-deserve you－,”

“Jaskier, I promise you… You didn’t fuck anything up.” Geralt says, voice firm.

“I-I came without your permission.” Jaskier says, breathily, eyes lowered like he’s admitting to a dark and scandalous secret. Like Geralt hadn’t been there, and felt his tight little channel clench and flutter around his cock. Like he hadn’t scooped the bard’s spend up in his fingers and pressed them against his lips to taste…

“Mhmm.” Geralt agrees easily. There’s no point in contesting the obvious. “...And?”

The bard sniffles, “A-And? What do you mean,  _ and _ ?”

“It’s not like you to actively seek out punishment, little lark.” And then, he reconsiders, “Well… unless it’s a proper spanking. Then, you have no reservations about driving me to my wits end.” He gives him a small smile.

“I-I… I understand if you don’t w-want me anymore.” He says, tears continuing to pour down his cheeks. “J-Just, I… Please be gentle, alright? I know that I… that I d-don’t have the right to ask that of you, but－,”

“Jaskier,” he says, tone brokering no room for argument. Jaskier winces, bracing for the inevitable fallout… “Can I touch you?” A long moment of tense silence follows, in which Jaskier’s brain attempts to catch up to the proceedings. What in the…

“Geralt, please, you don’t have to－,”

Geralt cuts him off, taking care to over-emphasize each word as he reiterates his earlier question. “Can. I. Touch. You. Jaskier.” It doesn’t sound like a question… but deep down in the dark haze that’s settled over his mind, he knows it to be. He knows Geralt won’t proceed further without his consent. 

He blinks, a few more tears dripping off of his lashes, “...Y-Yes.”

“Perfect.” A second later, two firm arms envelop him in a tight embrace and whisk him up off of the ground. “I’m going to move you to the bed now, precious. I think you’ll be more comfortable atop the nice, soft mattress, all bundled in furs…” he purs, describing every last action he undertakes in hopes of further soothing Jaskier. 

Once he has Jaskier on the bed, he takes one of his semi-clean shirts from his satchel and slips it over the bard’s head. The bard was already dressed in a thin, silk undershirt, but Geralt could feel the way his skin was chilled from however long he’d been sitting on the floor, and he knew that this would be warmer. And it would allow the bard to be surrounded in his scent, which was always a plus. Once the bard is suitably dressed, he covers him in furs, careful to ensure that every last inch of him is enveloped in warmth. 

He has a small purse of rations, filled with a variety of dried fruits and nuts. He takes this, and a skin of fresh water, over to the bed, taking a seat next to Jaskier’s legs and laying out his tools across the bard’s lap. It hurts to think that Jaskier thinks himself so disposable that one little misstep in the bedroom would be reason enough for Geralt to throw him away. It hurts more to sit back and wonder just how long Jaskier had sat there, wallowing in a pit of self-loathing and hurt, before Geralt had realized he wasn’t in bed beside him. 

He feeds him by hand, watching the emotions that flicker across Jaskier’s pretty face ever so carefully. When he’s eaten enough that the worst of the tremors have stopped, he sets the pouch aside and encourages him to take a few long swallows from the water skin. And Jaskier is good, so very good for him, accepting everything that Geralt offers without question, without complaint. He tells Jaskier as much, and the compliment earns him a small smile.

“Jas?” He asks, after he’s set the skin aside. He curls his fingers, stroking them along the sharp line of Jaskier’s chin. “There’s something I want you to do for me, alright? I just know that you can be a good little pet and do exactly as I ask.” Jaskier is practically  _ purring _ at his touch. 

“I c-can… I can be  _ so good _ .” He promises, breathless and misty eyed. Geralt’s heart lurches, wishing he’d seen the signs sooner. Wishing Jaskier hadn’t felt so low that he thought he needed to curl up on the floor and suffer in silence. “Whatever you want, Sir… I’ll－,”

“Shh,” Geralt drags his thumb over Jaskier’s full bottom lip, the tender skin still wet with tears. “I want you to repeat after me, okay, little lark?” After a pause, Jaskier gives a small, slightly confused nod. “My Witcher loves me.”

Jaskier swallows hard, his tongue heavy as he attempts to form the words. “M-My Witcher l-l-loves me.”

“I am his greatest treasure…” he continues, holding steady eye contact. He can smell the way the sharp, sour tang of Jaskier’s distress beings to mellow out into the floral scent that denotes his pleasure, “and he loves me more than  _ anything _ else in the world… except maybe Roach.” He allows his lips to quirk up into a slight half smile.

Jaskier’s giggle is like balm to his aching soul, “I am his greatest t-treasure, and he…” he offers a soft, warbling smile, “he l-loves me more than anything else in the world. Except maybe Roach.”

“And he will never leave me willingly.” Geralt whispers, leaning forward to touch their foreheads lightly.

Jaskier sniffles, “B-But－,” but Geralt won’t hear it.

“And he will never leave me willingly.” He repeats, verbatim, acting as though Jaskier simply hadn’t heard.

There’s a long pause, and then a soft, hesitant, “...A-And he will… he will never leave me willingly.” 

“Such a good boy. So good for me.” He hums, noting the way that a bit of color, slowly but surely, has begun to return to his bard’s skin. “I think… that we ought to take today off. We can spend some time cuddling… I’ll even let you use my chest as a table if the mood strikes you to write.”

“B-But… we don’t have the coin to postpone our travels another day…” Jaskier looks like he’s on the brink of working himself into another full-fledged panic, but Geralt is quick to back him down off of the edge. 

“We have the coin.” He assures, and says no more about it.

It takes a short while, but Jaskier is eventually calm enough to drift off again. The tear tracts on his cheeks have long-since dried, leaving behind vibrant blue eyes rimmed with red and swollen to the point of visible discomfort. Geralt does what he can to soothe him, draping cool cloths dipped in lavender across his eyes to take down the swelling, massaging limbs that are achingly sore from remaining cooped up in one position for so long, kissing rounded cheeks and promising forever as many times as it takes to soothe Jaskier’s fretful heart. 

“I love you, Jaskier.” He tells him, when the bard has loosened up enough to rest his head on Geralt’s chest. He’s snoring, and  _ drooling _ , and it’s equal parts disgusting and adorable. “And I’ll be here when you wake up. Today. Tomorrow.  _ Always _ .”

It’s unclear, at first, whether Jaskier heard, or whether he was so lost in his dreamland that the words flew right over his head. But then he feels the bard’s lips curl into a gentle smile against his skin, his half-slurred response soft, like a prayer.

_ “Good.” _


End file.
